


Lips Touched by Depravity

by DreamersEclipse



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Kissing, M/M, More tags to be added, rated m cuz how can this ship be rated anything lower, short series, sin ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6218407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamersEclipse/pseuds/DreamersEclipse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kiss is a sweet sting, like honey and arsenic. Lester knows he's being poisoned but it's addicting too and Lorne isn't denying him this. He'd probably kill him if he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Swear with Your Lips Dear

**Author's Note:**

> I am trash guardian, guardian of the trash. Please leave your morality at the door before entering the dumpster with me. This is one of those ships. That shouldn't stop us from having more stories with these douche nozels, so please enjoy.

Lorne kisses him first in the parking lot outside of the diner. He drags him off to the side where a rustic green dumpster leans against the old brick wall. Lester panics at first, thinking that he’s going to be killed just like Sam Hess was killed. His body dumped like garbage maybe. 

The air from his lungs escape in a gush past his quivering lips as his back hits the rough bricks. Lorne stares at him a moment, marveling the pale face pressed up against the reddish brown wall, and the lithe little body enveloped in that awful orange coat. He finds the bandage across the salesman’s nose to be quite attractive. Blood belongs on this man’s face, he thinks.

A sarcastic smile spreads across his face as he traps Lester between his arms, caging him in. Caught. Teeth sunk in. Will he scream? Does he think he is going to kill him? 

“L-L-Lorne?” Squawks the small man. He’s peering up at him with those owlish big silver-brown eyes. Oh he can see it now and it’s more enticing then any person or job has been in a long time. Blades buried in that naivety and meekness. It makes him want to carve out all that brown so that there’s only steel left. “A-aw heck, you know I’m not going to say anything! I promise!” 

Lorne gives him a look like he’s a child who said something ridiculous. Amusement is a veneer in his dead eyes. “Pinky swear?”

“W-what?”

“Do you pinky swear not to tell?” He reiterates in a slow voice, leaning his face closer to Lester’s. It isn’t done with the intention to be threatening but the small salesman still tries to blend into the brick wall by sheer force of will. 

“Ah-ah-y-yes, of course! I pinky swear! He-heck!”

Lorne grabs his jaw, fingers digging in a little too unnecessarily to force his head back into meeting his eyes. An electric current shoots up his spine at the defiance there staring back at him. A beast inside desperate to break out of its chains. The hitman wonders if he can give it the key it needs to be loose. 

“Good.” 

Lester’s eyes become impossibly huge once his Lorne’s lips press against his. He watches his expression the whole time while digging his tongue into the salesman’s mouth, pushing him harder against the wall. Their cheeks are cold but their mouths are warm. Red flushes Lester’s face and he tries to push him away. 

His grip is strong though. The hand on the wall travels to the back of his head and grips his short silver hair there like it’s a sheet being stubbornly held on to. A couple dirty swipes of his tongue, the way the hand on his jaw slackens to a gentle caress and Lester is giving into it. He’s swept up, suffocated, drowned, ignited and fucking torn by the thin rough lips on his own. Lips that have acknowledged him and his suffering. Lips that have whispered to him encouragement and possibilities that he would have never believed himself possible of. 

A light whimper and moan escape him as he’s left breathless and clinging to the painful surface of the harsh bricks just to stay standing on his weak knees. Lorne enjoys the new view of glossed over eyes and a pink swelled mouth. 

“Now don’t go breaking your promise, Lester. You pinky swore and everything. I’d like to think you hold some value in keeping your fingers…or even your life.”

Lester absently watches Lorne walk back around to the front to his car. Meanwhile he’s left standing next to a disgusting old dumpster with his lips thrumming and heart hammering. Standing on weak legs and even weaker foundations. 

Finally the events that just transpired click in his mind and anger shoots through him. His teeth gnash at the mere thought, disbelief and indignation shaking his shoulders. “That no-good-“ He spins around without thinking, swinging a punch out at the wall only to end up hopping around, hissing in pain. “Sonofabi- he kissed me. Aw heck. What was-“ Clinging his hurt hand to his chest, he takes a few calming breathes. Composure. Then he walks out to the front of the diner, intent on forgetting that ever happened.

The phantom feeling on his lips and ghostly whisper in his mind laugh that he even think he can try to.


	2. It Was a Peck, Like a Woodpecker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second time, Lorne is the one kissing Lester again.

The second time, Lorne is the one kissing Lester again. 

There are two dead bodies in the house, his ears are ringing with the sound of the gunshot and his hand hurts for some reason. He feels himself awash with panic, uncertain of how to approach this brand new predicament. Part of him wants to hate Lorne for making the situation more complicated. Another part of him knows full well that he brought this on to himself. 

That little desperate voice whispers accusingly at him, telling him how this psychotic man got inside his head. He’d never have killed her on his own. He’d never have had these thoughts one his own. Of course not. 

‘WHAT IF YOU’RE RIGHT AND THEY’RE WRONG?’

The words stare back at him and he’s scared to admit to himself that those thoughts were always his. That hammer was in his hand. All of the anger was his alone; has been his for so, so many years. And the pleasure that his actions brought is now his as well. Something so wrong that it feels right.

He can’t admit this to himself so he runs straight into that stupid fish poster with the intent of knocking himself out. There’s a bright flash behind his eyes and he doesn’t feel it but suddenly he’s staring at the ceiling. There are a couple precious seconds where his mind and vision swim, consciousness desperately fighting by animalistic instinct.

A familiar figure looms over him, a smile like from that of a shark filling up his blurred sight. The voice filters in through like a distant gargle, barely distinguishable. “Oh Lester.” Distantly calls the male voice.

The man leans down, Lester wants to pull away but it’s only his mind that’s slipping back and not his body. Then he feels the pressure there against his lips. It’s a brief peck- a barely there touch that is gone in a second. But it feels like a stab that leaves him fatally bleeding. It feels like the brief contact has left an indent on his body, on his soul, that will never fade away.

Maybe Lorne says something more. Maybe that shark smile is offering him something important for his ears but it is only his darkening vision catching moving lips that hint at anything. Lips speaking, no voice- just ringing and the weight of a not-quite-kiss. Then he finally is consumed by unconsciousness and shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....why did I write this instead of sleeping?


	3. Bite Hard and You'll Draw Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third time, Lester is surprisingly the one kissing Lorne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah-ha-ha...I am trash. Un-betad. Sorry for any mistakes.

The third time, Lester is surprisingly the one kissing Lorne. 

He has to do a double take at first. 

‘Is that? No it can’t be-‘ 

But it is. Lorne Malvo, the man who has turned his life upside down sits less than 15 feet away from him. In this specific state, at this specific time, in this specific hotel and this goddamn specific bar. The night cap and the pretty lay flee from his mind the moment that realization hits home. 

Suddenly, he isn’t Lester Nygaard the salesman of the year, successful man with a pretty wife. He’s Lester Nygaard, the small, stepped on Minnesotan with a broken nose- chatting up a stranger in the emergency room and wishing without hope that he could stand up for himself.

His gaze catches on the award. There it is, he thinks. The proof that he’s changed. Proof that he’s become more than what he was. And suddenly that desire for acknowledgement twists like a vitriolic tornado of need. He needs to be seen. He needs Lorne Malvo to see him.

“I’ve never met this man in my life.” He says with a smile to those people, those strangers around him.

It fucking stings. Makes him feel the same way he did when Chazz told him he would tell other people that he was dead just because he couldn’t stand him. Or how Pearl would always bemoan marrying such a loser. But he’s already lived through all of that bull shit. He’s lived through it and here before him is the man who has seen him changed yet not wanting to see the change.

Lester is surprised to say the least. Out of habit, he’s prepared to slip back into the old Lester who lived only as a doormat. People everywhere in his life wiping their dirty boots all over him, always telling him that it was all he was ever going to be.

“Walk away.” Lorne warns in a deadly whisper, sending a thrill up his spine that scares, confuses, and arouses him.

Maybe he can just go back to his drink. Make some more flirty stares at the beautiful women he wanted to cheat on his wife with. 

‘Walk Away’ Echoes the dark voice in his mind. Except it’s those very words that seal his fate so that he can do anything but walk away. The acknowledgement. He has to chase after it. It’s stupid. It’s crazy. It’s the only thing he could think about for an entire year as he pushed himself out of his meek little shell and decided to be the hammer instead of the nail. 

That old Lester Nygaard who would have slunk away with his tail between his legs is dead. Long live Lester Nygaard. And screw Lorne Malvo and his ‘Walk away.’

His hand slides into the elevator just before the door closes. “No.” He says, sliding right in to look Malvo in the eyes as he says it. The hitman speaks in one word affirmative and negatives, so it’ll be clear as day for him to understand. The expression that greets him makes his stomach knot up in anticipation- live currents coursing through his veins. He wants to say it again. No. No. No. No. Because he has the power to do so. 

“You don’t get to- And I’m to interrupt. But it’s not right.” He has a freaking audience, and he hates it. If it weren’t for them then Lorne would’ve- “When somethings not right, well, the ‘Old Lester’, he would’ve let it slide. But not this guy. I’ve worked too hard. I’ve come too far.”

“Lester, stop.”

Hearing his name is like inhaling glycerin and the live current turns into an overload of sparks. His heart is pounding in his chest and he feels so alive. So free. So confident. He doesn’t want to stop.

He takes one step forward, grabs the lapels on his grey jacket and yanks him into a kiss. The stupid audience make noises of surprise and disgust. That pretty blonde girl gasps the name Mike but Lester will be damned if the peanut gallery deters him. He moves his mouth against Lorne’s, who just lets it happen as he remains rigid and unmoving.

An annoyed growl reverberates between their connected lips and Lester pulls fully away to glare up at him. Lorne tils his head a couple centimeters, an amused and condescending expression on his face. It’s so unsatisfying, stealing a kiss from Malvo of all people. Yet he wants more. 

“Honey?” Questions the blonde with a confused, appalled expression on her model face.

Lorne’s attention is on him though. It doesn’t leave him, just like it should be. “Is this what you want, Lester?” He asks.

His mind stutters. “Uh..” 

Suddenly his own suite is being grabbed between hands like snake holds and he’s being shoved up against the elevator wall. A squeak of surprise and slight pain escape him. It feels the same way it did a year ago against the cold brick wall outside of the diner. He even swears he can smell the stink of the dumpster with his nervous inhales at the violent action. Some part of him is anticipating another kiss. Another part is expecting to be shot- fulfilling his fate from oh so long ago.

“Hey Mick Mike, calm down will ya?” Calls out the bigger man.

“Is this what you want?” He asks again, still ignoring everyone. The tense atmosphere and intense silence are thick on his tongue and he can’t help but look down at Lorne’s lips, then up to his intense dark eyes fixed upon him. “Yes or no?” He whispers, hot breath ghosting across his lips.

Lester fights the nerves, takes the reigns of the currents and looks straight into those dark eyes as he says, “Yes.” 

Something hard bumps against his stomach, making him gasp. Lorne is smirking at him. “I promise this is not because I’m happy to see you, Lester.”

Just as he’s about to dare taking in a breath, Lorne pulls away enough to pull a gun out and shoot all three of the strangers in quick succession. There’s a silencer on the barrel but it still feels like the noise makes him go deaf. Blood splatters across the monochrome silver walls and all of them slump to be red heaps on the floor. 

His chest is heaving from the exertion of surprise, body shaking as though he were just doused with freezing water. He wants to run but he’s still relatively pinned to the wall and it’s not like there’s anywhere to go. The elevator dings, doors open to an empty floor and the hitman reaches back to hit another button.

Lorne is still looking at him when he finally looks away from the bodies. “That’s on you.” He tells him with a patronizing grin. The hitman uses his hand not occupied with a gun to wrap around Lester’s throat. It’s not enough to cut off airway, but it does force him further against the wall and holds him there. 

He breathes harshly through his nose, instinctively grabbing at the arm that could potentially choke the life out of him. Wouldn’t that be ironic with the gun in the other man’s hand. But Lorne just dips his head down and devours his mouth. There’s something ugly and addicting in the way their teeth clank together and a harsh tongue dominates every corner of the wet cavern of his mouth. 

Lester grabs the back of Lorne’s silver hair- god the color doesn’t suit him well but he doesn’t want to get shot just for remarking that- and he digs his nails in harshly to the scalp, yanking him roughly into a deeper kiss. There’s a hiss of pain from the other man and the barrel of the gun drags down his cheek like a caress- some new sort of Russian roulette for lovers. 

Lorne squeezes his throat. What little air he did have flees and his head feels like its full of helium while his stomach squeezes painfully. But then he’s pulling away and he’s sucking in air, daring his knees to get weak on him. It’s satisfying to see the hitman looking slightly winded as well, his eyes somehow much darker which he didn’t think was possible.

The elevator dings again and beyond the tiny metal box is the basement floor. He sees darkness and escape as opposed to artificial luminescence reflecting on cherry blood and predator’s eyes. 

“Lester.” Lorne’s voice drags his attention to the origin of the voice. “Grab the fat man’s feat, help me dump his body in a dumpster and I’ll do more than kiss you. Six months staking out this case, sticking my hands in sewer mouths and gallons of spit. I’d like to get a little more out of this venture then that wonderful surprised look on his face.”

Lester blinks at him. The empty hallway whispers the temptation of retreat. Those dark eyes silently beckon him further into a different darkness. He glances down at the award in his hand. His name, the proof of accomplishment, acknowledgement of his existence…and he throws it into the empty hallway. 

The hitman raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll pick it up when we’re done here. Certainly can’t carry it while we work, right?” He asks. 

Lorne just smiles and grabs his chin, tiling his head up to meet his lips. It’s full of fire and short, sharp bites- it fills him up, it makes him feel empty inside and he kisses back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is this. I may or may not write more for it.... Hope you enjoyed my fellow Lornester shippers! <3

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to hell but I'll do it with a smile and a collection of Lornester fic/art in my arms. Thanks for reading!


End file.
